


Pulled Down By Your Tide

by spockandawe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Awkward Romance, Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Fingerfucking, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Overstimulation, Pirates, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pushes off the bed in one smooth motion, and your bloodpusher skips a beat as he takes a step towards you. “Really.”</p>
<p>“If, if you’re trying to imply anything <em>lewd—</em>”</p>
<p>“Lewd? Seriously? You sound like Zahhak.” Another step.</p>
<p>Your voice is too shrill when you ask, “But <em>are</em> you?”</p>
<p>He braces one hand against the wall over your shoulder, tilts his head to the side, and smirks in that infuriating, <em>awful</em> way. “What do you think?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulled Down By Your Tide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SybLaTortue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SybLaTortue/gifts).



> As general background, this fic is set is syblatortue's [piratestuck](syblatortue.tumblr.com/tagged/piratestuck) AU, where Karkat is a pirate captain, and everyone has lots and lots of sex, and I _really_ recommend checking it out if you aren't familiar with it yet. Syb's art is fantastic, and there's a lot of fascinating worldbuilding that's gone into the setting (and one of my favorite uses for Erisol that I've ever seen). In particular, this fic is inspired by [this gorgeous picture.](http://syblatortue.tumblr.com/post/135201960456/how-sad-that-theyll-deny-that-they-had-a-great) Give Syb's stuff a look if you haven't seen it before!
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/135737998886/pulled-down-by-your-tide-spockandawe-homestuck)

                Upon reflection, you believe your first mistake must be that you chose to speak to Karkat alone. Which, of course, isn’t to say you’re a _complete_ fool. There were others in here when you came into the room. Just a simple friendly conversation, and though you refuse to overlook the… _character_ of the crew of this vessel, the people Karkat has chosen to surround himself with—You can admit to yourself, at least, that spending evening after evening alone in your quarters becomes harder and harder to endure as the weeks pass.

                And really, how were you supposed to see this coming? The room isn’t large, but it was full to bursting when you slipped in. But then Gamzee and Rose wandered out arm in arm. John sat on the bunk with an arm around Karkat’s shoulders trading _increasingly_ inappropriate jokes with Nepeta until Jade swooped in through the open door and dragged him out, scolding him that his watch should have begun ten minutes ago. And then it was you, Nepeta, and Karkat. Nothing untoward.

                Really, all you were trying to do was make Karkat understand that no, the mere practicalities of running a ship aren’t an excuse to disregard the underlying problems inherent in such a hierarchical power structure, never _mind_ what he says about some of the other crews he’s met. You ignore the way Nepeta leans against the wall and grins as she looks back and forth between the two of you, while Karkat gets louder and louder and you, on the other hand, _completely_ maintain your composure.

                Eventually though, Nepeta pushes off the wall, gives you an outrageous wink that, that surely Karkat must have seen. She isn’t making reference to—That was private, it was a secret, she _promised—_ But she only punches you lightly on the arm, and ambles out of Karkat’s quarters, kicking the door swing shut behind her.

                And then it’s only you and Karkat. Right. Ah. You are entirely capable of carrying on a civil conversation with him, of course. Just like before. And if he wants to get worked up over points of disagreement rather than expressing his views like a civilized adult, well. That’s _his_ problem, isn’t it. You’re prepared for incoherent shouting. You’re looking forward to it, even. You might be here as an unwilling guest on his ship, but no matter how much Karkat wants to lord it over you, you have this advantage at least. You simply argue your points in a mature, restrained manner, and once he’s reduced to his… admittedly extensive repertoire of obscene metaphors, you bow out of the conversation and return to your own berth, moral high ground firmly in hand.

                Or at least, that’s your plan. Your plan that falls apart immediately. Nepeta kicks the door shut, the latch closes, and by the time you turn back around, Karkat is smirking in an _entirely_ too self-satisfied manner, and isn’t shouting at all. He looks you up and down, slow and lazy, and you swallow. By this point, you are intimately—or rather, _extremely_ familiar with the excesses of this crew, and all of them are aware of the vows you’ve taken. You won’t allow such an inconsequential thing to unbalance you. Of course, by now you’ve lost your train of thought, but it isn’t as though it’s difficult to find ways to infuriate Karkat.

                You’re just marshaling your thoughts on, ah, whether it bespeaks a disregard for the safety of his crew to have so few people aboard? Or perhaps something about how Jade, how she— Something. This shouldn’t be difficult, you were only just arguing with him, but the way he’s lounging on his bed, leaned back on one elbow— Every time your eyes meet his, you lose your train of thought. You’re stumbling over your words, and he doesn’t even do you the courtesy of interrupting, just sits there and _smirks_ until you finally trail off into awkward silence.

                “Hey,” he says. “Why don’t you just come over here and sit already.”

You… could sit. You haven’t moved in some time. Your feet are getting rather sore. With the way Karkat’s shirt is falling open, you can see a pale grey sliver of his thorax. You lean back against the wall. “I’m quite comfortable here, thank you. And as I was saying—“

                “You weren’t saying _anything_ , bulgesore. I have better things to do than let you wait to realize that again.”

                You flush. “Perhaps I was only making an appropriate response to the conversational content provided by the other party involved.” A pause, a raised eyebrow. “I can explain in simpler terms if necessary.”

                Honestly, you’re expecting him to snap and yell, and then you’ll be back in familiar territory. But he doesn’t. He grins and looks you up and down again, even slower and more deliberate than before. And then raises his eyebrow back at _you_. “Look, we’re two mature adults. Let’s just skip the part where we dance around the issue like two little wigglers. It’ll be less embarrassing for both of us in the long run.”

                The door is right there. You could leave if you wanted to. You cross your arms over your thorax. “I hardly know what you’re talking about.”

                He pushes off the bed in one smooth motion, and your bloodpusher skips a beat as he takes a step towards you. “Really.”

                “If, if you’re trying to imply anything _lewd_ —”

                “Lewd? Seriously? You sound like Zahhak.” Another step.           

                Your voice is too shrill when you ask, “But _are_ you?”

                He braces one hand against the wall over your shoulder, tilts his head to the side, and smirks in that infuriating, _awful_ way. “What do you think?”

                Your hand is fisted in the front of his shirt before you can think better of it, but you hardly know if you want to push him away or drag him closer. And he doesn’t do anything to help you make that decision. He just stands where he is, inches away, not moving, just— “I think you’re refusing to answer my _question_.”

                He shrugs, and all you want to do is wipe that awful smirk off his face. “Tell me to back off and I will.”

                You haul him in and kiss him. You’re dreadful at it. It doesn’t make matters any better that Karkat’s _sniggering_ against your mouth, so instead of proper kissing, you make a spirited attempt to bite the smile off his face.

                You’re a little better at that than at the kissing, at least. And Karkat makes a pleased little noise and surges against you, pressing his body against yours, pinning you to the wall. It isn’t as though you’ve never been kissed before, you should have at least _some_ idea what you’re doing. But you can’t focus to think, everything narrows down to Karkat against you, the way he’s ahh, biting _back—_

                Karkat knows what he’s doing more than you do. Which, which of course you knew would be the case, you are aware of how shamefully debauched this entire crew is, but compared to mere abstract knowledge, experiencing it is so much _more_. You can taste blood when you kiss him, and you want to shred his shirt and rake your claws down his back, and, and you _don’t_ want to do that, you hardly know what to do in the first place, you don’t need to get any further out of your depth.

                This, what you have now, this is. Fine. You can’t say you’re… opposed to how things have gone so far. And this is, of course, entirely within the bounds of your vow of chastity. If this will relieve some of the tension between you and Karkat, you’re entirely willing to let him kiss you. And, ah, kiss him back. You suppose. You might even be interested in doing this again.

                For now though, you do your best to focus on mirroring what Karkat does to you, the way he bites at your mouth and chases away the sting with a press of his lips. When his tongue slips into your mouth, it’s so close, so intimate you can hardly bear it. You’re breathing together, barely breaking apart before he presses back against you. Your world narrows to Karkat’s mouth, and the weight of his body leaned against yours.

                When he brings a hand up to tweak your horn, you break the kiss and almost jerk away at the sudden, unexpected sensation. He pulls back and waits then, and you don’t know whether you’re more irritated that he’d catch you off balance that way, or whether you’re more irritated that he’d _stop_. You wait for him to go back to kissing you, but he doesn’t, just stays where he is. So close, but not close _enough_ , until finally you lose patience, grab his shirt again, and yank him back against you.

                He’s laughing at you again, but you have to smile a bit yourself, because you can hear that he’s more breathless than before, and you can hear when he tries to talk and loses the words against your mouth. _You’re_ doing that to him. When you let your tongue run along the seam of his lips, you can feel the way he makes a pleased sigh and lets his mouth fall open for you.

                You hardly know when your thigh slips between his legs, it seems like the most natural thing, another way to slot his body closer against yours. His thorax is already pressed against yours, and you’re clinging to the back of his shirt to pull him closer still. Karkat’s braced against the floor, pinning you to the wall, your legs all tangled with his. What you _do_ become aware of is the slide of damp fabric against your thigh.

                It takes some time for you to understand. You are, ah. Rather distracted. By certain events. But when Karkat makes a noise that could almost be called a moan against your mouth and grinds down against your leg, you realize, the wet slide of your pants along your leg, that’s— _oh._

                You’re so shocked that before you even stop to think, you’re pushing Karkat away, shoving him back from you. You, you hadn’t realize things had progressed to _this_ point. This—Karkat shouldn’t have let things go so far. _You_ shouldn’t have let things go so far.

                Karkat stays where you’re holding him, at arm’s length. He’s still smiling lazily, and you have trouble looking away from his lips. They’re still damp and swollen and you want him to kiss you again, and this is _not the time—_ He doesn’t say anything for a few breaths, waiting for you to speak. But you. Can’t find your words. Finally, he ventures, “Problem?”

                “ _Yes_ , there’s a problem,” you manage. “The problem is that you’ve been. You’re.” You gesture helplessly down at your thigh. “It is inconsiderate in the _extreme_ that you wouldn’t tell me you were. That _this_.”

                He raises his eyebrows, and pointedly looks down at his own thigh. It takes you a moment to understand what the damp spot on his pants means, but then you blush humiliated red, and all of a sudden, you are painfully, _terribly_ aware of how wet you are between your legs.

                You’re waiting for him to tell you point blank that you’re a hypocrite. You don’t have anything to say in response. There’s nothing you _can_ say in response. You hate how grateful you are when he doesn’t press the point.

                Instead, he sighs. “Look, you know you’ve got the power to call it quits and go anytime you want. You do know that, right? I might be an unmitigated asshole, but I’m not _that_ kind of asshole, thanks.”

                You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to _do_. You’d thought you were starting to find your feet, but no, you’re even further out of your depth than you’d been at first. Your nook aches. You should… go back to your quarters. You took a vow. But this, it was all so much more than you ever got to feel on your own, so _intense_. And you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re only going to humiliate yourself here. And you took a vow. A vow to… yourself, of course. Which means that you have the power to release yourself from it. But if, if you do _that_ , then what did it ever mean in the first place? Karkat is watching you, and you don’t know what to do.

                In the end, you stay, but you don’t manage to do much more than that. You should… kiss Karkat again? Perhaps? You don’t know how this _works_. You wind up just looking helplessly at him until he takes pity and closes the gap between you again. When his hands settle on your hips, you shiver at the contact. He kisses you, and yes, this is good, you almost know what you’re doing here. But then he tugs you forward, away from the wall, and you half-stumble as you take a step toward the bed.

                You, ah. That’s. Um. Karkat rolls his eyes, but his hands are still gentle on you. “ _Yes,_ you still get to stop things whenever you want. But let me tell you, that’s going to be much more comfortable than trying to do this against the wall. You’ll get splinters in some interesting places, that’s all I’m saying.” He pauses and grins. “But if that’s what does it for you, who am I to judge?”

                He’s infuriating and terrible and you want to tell him how insulting it is that he would trivialize this issue in such a manner, but even more than that, you want to kiss him again. Which you do. He’s being _difficult_ , though, he takes his hands off you, which is the worst decision he’s made so far, and he’s shoving at your coat, why is he— _Oh_. He’s taking it off. You. Yes, you think you’re fine with that.

                You let him drop your coat on the floor, even though you really should— It would be better to properly—You don’t even _care_ , you just want his hands on you again. He undoes your sash painfully slowly, until you realize he’s doing it to tease you, and you snarl and bite at his mouth again. He only laughs, drops your sash to the floor, and moves to your cravat. You’re trying to push _his_ coat off his shoulders and kick off your shoes at the same time, but you don’t want to stop kissing him, and you’re beginning to doubt that your coordination is up to the task, but then he gets your cravat loose and drops his mouth to your neck, and _ahh—_

                This, this is. Your words are failing you, and all you can do is cling to Karkat and wish your claws were sharp enough to shred the clothes off his back. The prickle of Karkat’s teeth against your skin sends little shivers racing up and down your spine. One of his hands pulls you close against him, and the other teases at your grubscar through your shirt. You’re so overwhelmed by sensation that you hardly remember how to speak, but when Karkat begins sucking at your neck, your pan sluggishly tries to connect— Won’t that leave… is he—? You stiffen and push him away.

                “ _Stop that_.”

                He just laughs, entirely unrepentant. “What?”

                “I will not stand for you to, to— I am certain you have failed to consider how inherently objectifying it is to be _marking_ me like some sort of possession for anyone to see—”

                “Objectifying? Seriously? You can’t honestly expect me to believe that’s the _actual_ reason you’re arguing about this.”

                “Leaving marks right there on my neck for anyone to see, and you think I _wouldn’t_ argue?”

                He shrugs. “You seemed to like it while it was happening.”

                You… can’t honestly argue that point. You’re embarrassed to think of how much you were enjoying it. You’re painfully aware of how your nook is dripping, and the memory of his teeth on you— “Not where anyone can _see_ ,” you command, though the words leave your mouth sounding altogether too much like a plea.

                Karkat pulls you up against him again, and you watch, transfixed, as he tugs your shirt down low and bends to begin sucking a mark into your chest. You do your best to begin undoing his belt, but it, it’s rather _distracting_ with him— You can see the muscles in his neck working, and his hands are so careful holding you to him. You want something between your legs so badly it aches. You want _Karkat_ between your legs.

                When he finally breaks away, you can already see the bruise starting to form. God, you _need_ him. You try to nudge him towards the bed, and almost stumble again, but he doesn’t laugh at you, just says, “Yeah,” all soft and hoarse and pulls you along with him.

                And then he stops. _Again_. Just short of the bed, and you’re so frustrated and desperate you could just bite him, but he reaches for your pants and oh, oh, _yes_ , this is a more than acceptable reason for the delay. You don’t even care anymore that you don’t know what you’re doing, you just want _more_. He doesn’t even try to tease you, just undoes the buttons and pushes your pants down until you can kick them off yourself.

                He sits on the bed, and really, it would be the dignified option to sit _next_ to him, and allow matters to proceed as they will. Instead, you climb right up into his lap. You cup his face in your hands and kiss him, and you, ah, do it so enthusiastically that the two of you overbalance and tip over backwards onto the sheets, and Karkat’s laughing but you’re laughing too, and you can feel his bulge through his pants and this is the best thing you’ve ever done.

                You want his hands on you, or, or _in_ you, anything, but instead of reaching for your bulge, he raises his hands up to play with your horns, and you can’t bring yourself to argue. You never knew they were so sensitive, and it’s all you can do to keep breathing. Your senses are overwhelmed by _Karkat_. His hands on your horns, his mouth against yours, and when his thigh comes up to press between your legs, everything is perfect.

                You’re breathing too fast, but it’s fine, because you can feel how unsteady Karkat’s breathing is too. Your bulge is twisting against his pants, and nothing ever felt so good as the friction of the coarse fabric. And your _nook_. You grind down against him, feeling your nook slide along his leg. The fabric is so wet, and you realize that’s because of you, you’re dripping all over him and all you want is more.

                When you try to brace yourself against the bed for leverage as you grind against him, Karkat drops his hands from your horns. And no, that’s the worst decision he could have made, you want him to put his hands back right this instant— But instead he takes your hands in his, and you almost lose your balance. You could just wail with frustration, it’s so much harder to move like this, and you have a dreadful suspicion that’s exactly why he did it. You can’t kiss him like this either, you’re just—Just trying to move— You can feel his claws kneading against your hand, prickling against your palm, and he’s watching you so intently that when you meet his eyes it’s just too much and you—

                You come all over him. No bucket, no warning, nothing, and when you realize what you’ve done, your cheeks burn, and you can barely remember how to breathe. Nothing seems as electric and exciting as it did a minute ago. Your bulge has retracted, and now you’re just very cold and very sticky. And Karkat’s still under you, looking barely even ruffled, and it must be so shamefully obvious how inexperienced you are.

                “I. I should—“ You should what? You don’t even know. But Karkat reaches up to pull you down for a slow, lazy kiss.

                “It happens.” He pauses and smirks. “Especially when you decide to sleep with an actual god of sex.”

                It’s completely beyond you how he can simultaneously be so considerate and so _irritating_. You’ll show _him_ god of sex. …somehow.

                No, that’s not right, what are you even _doing_ here. This was a terrible decision and you should just leave now before it gets any worse. With any luck, you and Karkat can both pretend that this never happened. But instead of getting up and going, you let Karkat tip you on to your side, with your legs still all tangled together. Instead of telling him that this was a mistake, you let him take your face in his hand and kiss you so gently you can hardly stand it.

                It’s too easy to lose yourself like this. It’s terrifying. When Karkat rolls you onto your back and props himself up over you, you’re afraid for a moment that this is it, this is where he, he _does_ things to you and you’re not _ready_ and you don’t remember how to talk and he’s not going to know and he’s going to—

                He’s going to sit back on his heels and strip out of his coat and pants is what he’s going to do. You flush with shame at your assumption. And your cheeks get hotter still when you see that his clothing is soaked with genetic material. _Your_ genetic material. His bulge is coiling between his legs. When he bends back down over you, you feel another shiver of fear that this is the moment where he takes things to the next level and make a choked little noise of protest— But all he does push your shirt up and start sucking a lazy mark into your thorax. He even pauses at your noise and raises a questioning eyebrow until you manage to nod that, that yes, this is fine.

                You almost wish Karkat would just pin you down and _make_ you take it already. It would be. Easier. You don’t know what you’re _doing_. He’s letting you tell him no. He’s letting you take the initiative. He’s checking back in with you and reassuring you and you almost hate him for it. You don’t want a choice. You don’t want to know that you’re the one agreeing to this, even _asking_ for it, it would be so much easier to accept that this was something that… happened to you. Not something you chose for yourself.

                When Karkat nips at your grubscar, you make a shocked little noise and clutch at his shoulders. He looks up and meets your eyes, and you don’t know what he sees there, but whatever it is makes him smile and reach up with a hand to pinch your other grubscar. Your legs are tight around his waist and you don’t remember when that happened.

                Karkat hasn’t dropped his eyes from yours yet, and you can’t bring yourself to look away first. His thumb is still rubbing at the seam between your grubscar and your side, a constant buzz of sensation you can’t escape. When you shift, your sheath brushes against his thorax and you can’t help shivering when you realize how sensitive you still are.

                And Karkat realizes too. His smile shifts into something that can only be called a _smirk_ , that same awful, immature, irritating smirk he always puts on when he tries to talk down to you. He lifts his head from your thorax, and you only barely bite back a protest. But he’s moving up along your body and you feel his teeth under your ear, which— _no_ , you _told_ him—

                You shove him back. “As much as I might be tempted to attribute this to the unfortunate limitations of your intellect, you _do_ remember that I told you not to leave marks anywhere visible—” You’re holding him above you. Barely. And he’s grinning in that dreadful way he has and leans into your hand harder until your arms almost shake with the effort of holding him up. “—and I am forced to conclude that you are doing this _deliberately_ —”

                Karkat laughs. “Doing what deliberately? I’m sorry, my limited intellect is having trouble keeping up with all these big fancy words—”

                You let go and let him fall. It knocks all the air out of your aeration sacs, but it’s worth it for the surprised, “ _Oomph—_ ” you get from him.

                “I’ll mark _you_ up, see how you like it—” You do your best to get your mouth on some part of him, _any_ part, but you don’t waste all your spare time in grappling and fighting like _some_ people you could mention, and Karkat doesn’t have a difficult time fending you off. Even when you wrap your legs around his and try to roll him over, he braces against the bed and keeps you right where you are. He’s alternating laughs and threats about where he’s going to mark you next. But you notice that for all his posturing, he only bites you places that will be covered by your shirt.

                With the way you two are wrestling, you can’t help being painfully conscious of the way his bulge twists against your stomach. And of the way his leg presses up against your sheath and nook whenever he moves against you. But you, you have _better_ things to do than be distracted by such concerns. You’ve very nearly managed to get your mouth on Karkat to put some marks of your own on him. But then he pins your wrists to the bed, bends his mouth to a nipple and _sucks_. You gasp and arch up against him, and your bulge unsheathes against his leg in one smooth slide.

                Karkat looks entirely too self-satisfied when he pulls back. He presses his leg down against you, slow and deliberate, and it takes all your effort not to grind yourself back against him, you’re all too aware that your face must show how much he’s affecting you.

                “So what do you think, can I make you come _again_ like this? I bet I can.”

                You sniff. “With the shocking amount of time you seem to have wasted on such frivolous pursuits, I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea _what_ you know how to do.”

                “Real cute, asshole. But seriously, where do you want to take this?”

                You… don’t know how to answer that. You don’t even know where to begin answering that. You’ve already gone further than, than you’d _ever_ planned on going, you’ve been adrift ever since Nepeta left the room, you only have the barest clue of what your options even are—

                Karkat must see some of that on your face, because he’s almost gentle as he reaches down to take you bulge in hand. You bite back a noise when he brushes his thumb across the tip and ignore the way your bulge tries to tangle itself with his fingers.

                “I could go down on you,” he says. “I could ride you like this. Or I could get inside you—”

                Your nook _throbs_. “That one,” you manage. “I want. That one.”

                He grins. “Which one? Come on Kankri, use your words. Clear communication is very important in obtaining proper consent—”

                You try to snarl, but your voice comes out as something closer to a moan. You claw at his shoulders. “Get your bulge in me _right now_ , or I, I’ll—”

                Your voice chokes off as his fingers tease at the entrance to your nook. You try to work your hips down against him, it isn’t enough, you need him _inside_ you, you’re so empty, but he only moves with you, and you nearly sob with frustration. But then you feel the heat of his bulge pressing against you, and your world narrows to that sensation. He fills you so gradually, so slowly. When you look up, you can see him watching you. You hold his gaze for a moment, but it’s too much, too intense, you _can’t_ , and you throw an arm across your eyes and try to remember how to breathe.

                In a way, that’s almost worse, with nothing to distract you from the slow stretch of Karkat’s bulge in your nook. You almost want to tell him to stop, but even more than that, you want to cling to him and pull him deeper into you. He shifts, and you feel his mouth against your neck again, and you, you don’t even care anymore, he can leave whatever marks he wants. But he only kisses you so gently you can hardly stand it. Your legs are so tight around his waist that you think you must be hurting him, but he doesn’t protest, just presses in close to you until his hips are finally flush against you.

                He’s so warm. He’s so _deep_. And then he starts to move. You choke back a noise that’s much too close to a sob. Karkat’s bulge lashes inside you and your own twists in the space between your stomach and his. He licks a stripe along your neck, and you can feel the barest press of his fangs, and all you can do is cling to him and try not to fall apart.

                But, but then he pulls back, and your arm falls from your eyes as you clutch at his shoulders and beg, “No, please, _don’t—”_

                He pauses and looks up at you. “Relax, shitsponge. I’m not going anywhere.” He carefully reaches between the two of you and takes hold of your bulge. “You’re not the only one who wants something inside you, that’s all.”

                He doesn’t drop his gaze as he— _oh_. As he threads your bulge between his legs, back towards his. His nook. As soon as your bulge finds his, his, ahh, he’s so warm and _wet_ — You don’t think you could stop yourself if you tried. You’re making helpless, awful noises as your bulge twists up into him, and Karkat’s still _watching_ you. His expression is almost tender, and you. _Can’t._ You squeeze your eyes tight shut and drop one hand from his shoulder to cover your mouth, try to muffle the little noises you’re still making at every lash of his bulge, every lash of _your_ bulge.

                Karkat presses down against you, his mouth teasing at your neck again, as gentle as he was before. You can feel his shirt begin to tear with how you’re clutching at him, but you can’t bring yourself to loosen your grip in the slightest. This, this is good, you want this, you want to be _taken_ this way, you want this to last forever. But then Karkat curses, drives into you even harder, and snakes an arm around your waist to pull you up against him. You still don’t quite understand, but then his teeth sink into your shoulder, electric and perfect, and he’s—flooding your nook with genetic material.

                By the time your pan catches up, his bulge is already retracting, leaving you cold and empty. You claw desperately at his shoulders, gasping, “Please, wait, I— _Please—”_

                “Hey. _Hey_.”

                Your bulge slips out of him, and no, _no_ , this is the worst thing—you need—

                Karkat catches your hands, pressing them back down against the bed, and you can’t, you don’t have any _leverage_ , you need to make him understand— But he, he doesn’t go. He sits there, holding your hands and watching you. He isn’t in you anymore, but he’s _against_ you, and that’s. Something. You shiver and shut your eyes and do your best to calm your breathing.

                He squeezes your hands. “Calm down, okay? This isn’t over yet.”

                You manage a single nod. Karkat moves back and you, you can’t even bring yourself to loosen your legs around his waist, he has to force his way free. He takes only one of his hands from yours, and you are pathetically grateful he leaves his other hand where it is.

                You’re halfway expecting the careful touch at your nook, but the contact still makes you jump. Karkat snorts, but he lets his fingers tangle with yours while his other hand traces slow paths around your nook. Your bulge lashes against your stomach, embarrassingly out of your control, but Karkat ignores it. He presses a single finger against the entrance of your nook, the barest hint of pressure, you try to work your hips down against him, and this time, he lets you.

                His finger sinks into you so much easier than his bulge did, but without the heat and the _stretch_ , and you could almost sob at how badly you need _more_. But he doesn’t make you wait long before he adds a second finger, and then a third, and ahhh, the heel of his palm presses against the base of your bulge, and it doesn’t take more than a moment for your bulge to wrap itself around his wrist.

                He encourages you, quiet words that you can barely parse about how that’s right, just a little more, you’re almost there. You’re clinging so tightly to him that your claws are digging into the back of his hand, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He finds the rhythm you need, working his hand against your hips, rocking with you, letting the tension build again. You let yourself lose yourself in the sensation, until you feel him shift, and your eyes fly open and suddenly you’re terrified that, that something, that he’ll _stop—_ But he’s only bending down over you, pressing his lips to yours, and that’s it, that’s enough to tip you over the edge, and you spill all over his hand, shaking and gasping as the aftershocks roll through you.

                Karkat rolls over onto his side, bringing you with him. Your legs are tangled with his, and he hasn’t let go of your hand. He’s grinning at you, and you. You want to grin too, you’ve never felt so intensely _satisfied_ before, but the more you think about what you just did, the more trouble you have believing it even happened. And it did happen. Obviously. You’re lying here, holding Karkat’s hand, and are absolutely _covered_ in genetic material. So it must have happened.

                Karkat’s smile fades a little. Of course, that must be you, you’re— You don’t know how you’re supposed to react in a situation like this. Is there something you’re… supposed to say? To do? You’re sticky, you’re shivering, and you’re still having trouble believing you just _did_ this. Any of this. Even though you clearly did. You need to clean up. You need to do. _Something_. You can’t stay here, you don’t know what you’re doing here, you need to _go_.

                When you drop Karkat’s hand, he doesn’t resist. He watches without saying a word as you stand up and try to collect your clothing. Your incredibly stained clothing. You could almost cry, how are you supposed to cross the ship like this? Everyone will _see_.

                Karkat interrupts your thoughts with a quiet, “Leaving?”

                You force your voice as steady as you can. “Yes, well. I ought to go clean up, don’t you think? My clothes are rather, ah.” You gingerly pick up your cold, clammy pants. “ _Soiled_. And I’m not much better.”

                He doesn’t argue with you, and you don’t know if you wish he would. But he does reach for the far corner of his bed and hands you a mercifully unstained blanket. “Here, take this. It’s gotten chilly out.”

                You thank him reflexively, and wrap the blanket around your shoulders. It’s long. And large enough that you can bundle your clothing under it without being too terribly obvious. And that’s it, isn’t it? You leave. It isn’t a large ship, it doesn’t take you long to reach your own berth, but the walk still feels like it takes you days. Mercifully, you don’t encounter anyone else along the way.

                When you get to your quarters, you let the door latch shut behind you and slump back against it, letting your clothing fall to the floor. The rest of your evening feels unreal. Did it really happen? It must have happened. And now what are you supposed to do? There’s genetic material drying all over your legs. You find a rag and scrub mechanically at yourself for a few minutes before you give it up. You should find a way to wash your clothes too. You should.

                Instead, you let yourself fall into your bed and stare up at the ceiling. You should try to sleep too. Really. You even manage to arrange your sheets. And then you reach over the side of the bed to pull Karkat’s blanket up with you. It smells like him. You needed to leave, didn’t you? It was over, you were both done. Part of you wonders what it would have been like to stay. But you can’t go back now, can you. It’s… better like this. Really. You pull the blanket up over you, shut your eyes, and imagine that there’s a warm body nestled up against you and a hand holding yours as you drift off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/135737998886/pulled-down-by-your-tide-spockandawe-homestuck)


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